Chapter 6 - THE LETTERS
Ethan had written twenty-seven letters.
Not all romantic.
The first was desperate.
Sarah, I did not write those emails.
The second asked for an independent paternity test.
The fifth said he had hired an attorney but did not want custody litigation while Daniel was an infant if I truly wanted no contact.
The ninth was angry.
You cannot ask me to disappear from a child’s life and then refuse independent verification.
He thought I had asked.
I had not.
The thirteenth included medical history in case Daniel ever needed it.
Heart disease on his father’s side.
Peanut allergy in one cousin.
No major hereditary disorder known.
He had been trying to parent through envelopes he believed I rejected.
The letters after that became shorter.
Birthday cards.
A photograph.
One note each year:
If Daniel is mine and ever wants to know me, I will answer.
Patricia had stored all of them.
Some still sealed.
Others opened.
Her fingerprints would not prove she intercepted every one, but the postal returns and household records could.
At the time, I had been living in her house.
She controlled incoming mail.
Graham Keller, the family lawyer, had sent Ethan a cease-and-desist on letterhead signed with my name.
I never signed it.
Forensic review showed my signature had been copied from a probate form.
Graham claimed Marcus told him I authorized the letter verbally.
Marcus denied that.
Patricia said she remembered me crying and saying:
Make him stop.
I had said that once.
About Marcus showing me Ethan’s supposed emails.
Words can be repurposed when everyone around you controls the record.
Rachel filed a civil action seeking:
Declaratory judgment on my voting rights.
Preservation of company records.
An accounting of transactions under the proxy.
And injunction against renewal without independent consent.
Marcus responded that I was attempting a hostile takeover with Ethan.
The company board called an emergency meeting.
Employee trustees requested an independent review.
Their representative, Linda Morales, had worked at Thompson Family Foods for twenty-two years.
She called me.
“I’ve never met you in a board meeting.”
“I know.”
“Your votes have been cast for years.”
“I know.”
“Do you know what you approved?”
“No.”
Silence.
Then:
“That’s a terrible answer.”
“Yes.”
It was.
She said workers feared that reopening old transactions could threaten credit lines and pensions.
I promised nothing.
The auditor needed records.
Ethan recused himself from any formal review because our relationship and paternity created obvious conflict.
That decision angered Marcus’s supporters, who wanted to say Ethan planned the audit to seize power.
An unrelated firm was appointed by the court.
Daniel watched Ethan’s first video that evening.
Ethan sat in a plain office.
“Hi, Daniel. My name is Ethan. Your mom told me you like dinosaurs. I looked up the difference between an apatosaurus and a brachiosaurus, and I got it wrong twice.”
Daniel smiled.
The video continued for less than a minute.
No promises.
No “I’m your dad.”
At the end:
“If you want to meet me someday, I’d like that.”
Daniel replayed it.
Then he asked:
“Is he rich?”
I nearly laughed.
“Why?”
“Uncle Marcus says people without money need handouts.”
I sat beside him.
“Money does not decide whether someone deserves food.”
“But is Ethan rich?”
“He is comfortable.”
“Like Uncle Marcus?”
“Different.”
Daniel thought.
“Does he have a grill?”
“I have no idea.”
The child psychologist later told me that question was not about grills.
It was about whether the new man belonged to the world that had humiliated him.
I did not want Ethan to become a more powerful Marcus.
I wanted Daniel to meet a person.
Then the independent auditors found the first serious company discrepancy.
Thompson Family Foods had paid $3.6 million over four years to a consulting company called JRT Advisory.
No employees.
May you like
No office.
The owner was Jennifer Thompson.
